The Crafter's Dominion: A Dungeon Core Novel (Dungeon Crafting Book 5)

by Jonathan Brooks

  Only slightly out of breath, Echo’s three captors slowed down to a stop, bringing her around and depositing her on the forest floor. At least, she thought it was the forest floor, but when she finally got a chance to look around at something other than the running and blurred feet of the one carrying her, she realized that they were in a large cave. She hadn’t noticed because sunlight streamed through the roof through thousands of tiny holes, making it nearly as bright inside the holey enclosure as it was outside.

  “Doubtful.” The one that had carried her at first was visible now, and as she thought – she didn’t recognize him. By his bearing, the tightly bound black hair nestled over his shoulder, and the hard look on his face, she knew he was an Elite; not as seasoned and old as the one that had asked if they were followed, but an Elite, nonetheless. “Though I do have some unfortunate news…”

  “Where’s Herrlot?”

  Echo couldn’t see the speaker, but she could see that he made her captors nervous as they shuffled from side to side in an obviously uncomfortable state at the question. “Well, that’s kind of the unfortunate news—”

  “What are you talking about? Are you saying my help was unfortunate?” asked a voice that she immediately recognized.

  Elder Herrlot was back already and obviously safe.

  “Elder—how—?”

  “I told you I would catch up, didn’t I? I made better time than I expected, but then again I’m still getting accustomed to how beneficial these Energy Orbs can be.”

  The Energy Orbs! She must have possession of all that we brought with us, and I remember hearing that she had been hoarding them even before that. What could she possibly want with all of them? Is this all part of some master plan?

  Before anyone said anything else, Echo suddenly felt a loosening of her bonds. As soon as her hands were free, she started to pull at the branch keeping her from speaking even as she picked herself off of the floor. “What have you done? Why was I captured by the Royal Guards? What is your plan and what do I have to do with it? We came here to warn our people about the threat—”

  “Girl, don’t make me gag you again,” the Elder said as she held up her hand in warning. “Your questions will be answered in due time. At the moment, though, we’re still in danger until we can get to somewhere safe where we can talk.”

  The threat of being gagged again was enough of one that it got Echo to stop her questions, though she fumed on the inside. She hated being treated like a child and talked down to as if she wasn’t important; looking around the earthen cave with thousands of holes, however, she had to acknowledge that of the 5 other people she finally saw clearly, she was practically a baby. Although it was extremely difficult to tell an Elf’s age from their appearance unless they were so advanced in years that the signs were obvious, there was still an aura of maturity that surrounded those that had hundreds of years of experience. Compared to what she sensed from them, Echo was far below them in life experience.

  The Elder and the one that had met them in the cave – a much older Elite that had multiple streaks of white throughout his long, dark-blue hair and wrinkles around his eyes – walked towards the back of the cave where there weren’t as many holes in the ceiling, creating a shadowy expanse, the size of which was hard to determine. It was tricking her eye so much that she watched the two ahead of her disappear into nothing, almost as if they had acquired her knack for making herself invisible.

  “What—?”

  “Just follow them and you’ll see.” That was the only explanation she received, and unless she wanted to try to make a break for it right then and there, she didn’t really have any other choice but to obey. She hesitated for only a second while she thought about using her Air elemental energy to run away, but rejected the idea after realizing she didn’t know where she was or how to get back to the capital. There was a job to be done still, but without some sense of direction and knowledge of her whereabouts, she could spend days running around going in the wrong direction the entire time; given that these people wanted to stay hidden, it was likely they were located somewhere off the normal game trail, so to say.

  So, disregarding a potential for escape now that she was free – which she was fervently hoping wouldn’t be something she would soon regret – Echo followed in the footsteps of the Elder and…the other Elder, she supposed. It didn’t take more than a dozen steps to see that the end of the cave was hiding a nearly impossible to see passageway that was almost folded behind an outcropping, and she found herself walking down a narrow spiral staircase carved from the dirt and compacted into stable steps. This must have taken some Earth spell users a while to create.

  She didn’t count the steps because she was concentrating on keeping her feet in the near darkness, but she approximated that she walked down nearly 100 before it opened into a large room. As opposed to the practically pitch-black staircase, the 100-foot by 100-foot room was illuminated by small light orbs attached to the ceiling and walls. By themselves, they weren’t all that impressive; she could make one of them using her Holy energy, and they would last a few hours. What was impressive was the crowd that awaited them, armed with bladed weapons, bows, and staves not unlike what the Elder was carrying. Every single one of them appeared to be Elites as well, which only made the whole situation a bit more remarkable.

  Remarkable…yet terrifying at the same time.

  “I knew it! What are you trying to do here, Herrlot? Is this some sort of coup in the making?” Echo loudly blurted out, not thinking about what she was saying as she took in the sight of a veritable army-in-waiting. “Because if so, I don’t want any part of these political games—”

  “This isn’t a coup, girl,” the Elder said softly from her side, which made Echo jump in surprise. The Ranger hadn’t realized Herrlot had been standing there the whole time. “That’s already happened, though not many people know it.” The older Elf walked forward and spread her hands to encompass the hard faces of those assembled. “No, this isn’t a coup, girl,” she repeated. “These people are the ones who are going to change things, in order for us to survive.”

  How is that not a coup—?

  “And you’re going to help us.”

  Uh…what?

  Chapter 8

  “Gerold, you don’t seem to understand what I’m saying.”

  I don’t understand?! I certainly don’t!

  “You weren’t locked down here because you arrived on the back of one of our most hated enemies,” the old Dwarf explained with rapidly evaporating patience, “though that had something to do with it.”

  Gerold supposed that it hadn’t helped his cause to arrive on the back of an Aerie Roc, a gigantic monster bird that frequently attacked the few aboveground farming locations the Mountain Kingdom had nestled in a few scattered valleys inside their mountain ranges. He hadn’t even thought about how it would look, other than possibly as an element of envy; to be able to “tame” one of the massive beasts was a remarkable accomplishment.

  The Entrance Guards, all Third-shield rank and above, who surrounded him just outside of the main entrance to Stonebrink Hall didn’t seem to think so, however.

  They had attacked the Roc immediately, nearly bowling him over in the process. He had been in the middle of unstrapping his Deep Diver suit from the bottom of the harness, and in a panic he had ordered Sandra’s giant monster to fly away. While it had been an advantageous form of transportation to arrive back home in less than a day, he didn’t particularly care if the bird died or not – it was their hated enemy, after all. Instead, it was the potential for his suit to be destroyed along with the monster that prompted his abrupt order. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure if the suit had stayed secured on its back, or if it had fallen off after he ordered it away.

  His highly unusual arrival would’ve been enough of a reason to lock him up for colluding with the enemy despite his protestations that he was controlling the giant bird, but it was Gerold’s lack of something that was the real reason. />
  “You came back without your armor, Gerry.” Master Blacksmith Jespin hadn’t called Gerold by that nickname since before the old Dwarf created the armor for him. It felt like decades ago by that time, but in reality it had only been less than a year since Gerold became an official Shieldman. Hearing the name brought to the forefront the fact that he managed to lose his precious armor faster than almost any other Shieldman in history – at least compared to those who hadn’t lost their life at the same time.

  It was the same sort of attitude the Shieldmen led by Bregan in Nurboldar had adopted towards Gerold at first, when the Second-shield had learned of the armor’s loss. It was dishonorable to be so careless as to let your armor be destroyed so easily, and to survive without a scratch; each set of armor was custom-made to the specific Shieldman and took weeks or months to create in a secretive process by their Dwarven Master Blacksmiths. A Second or First-shield might lose their armor after some particularly deadly battles and survive, though it was rare. In those kinds of incidents, there was usually a replacement made for them because they were valuable members of their defense; to a Fifth-shield like Gerold, however, the loss of armor was dishonorable not only to themselves but to their family, and a replacement was never supplied to one so careless with something so precious.

  “But I already said that it wasn’t my fault, and I made up for it by helping to defend Nurboldar with—”

  “You know better than that, Gerry. No one cares what you did afterwards, only that you lost your armor. It’s one of the reasons you’re down here, as you know, because your family has disowned you to save what reputation they still have left.” Jespin shook his head sadly. “I don’t know how you even allowed that to happen, especially after all of the work I put into it.”

  That was like a slap to Gerold’s face. He already suspected that his family had done something like that, especially since no one had deigned to visit him since his incarceration. It was actually a wonder that Jespin came to visit; the old Master Blacksmith had retired soon after he had created Gerold’s armor and battleaxe, due to slowly failing strength in his arms. He wasn’t sick or anything, but age eventually did catch up to everyone – especially to those who’d already seen 500 to 600 winters. Having already trained multiple Master Blacksmiths, Jespin’s legacy would live on as his knowledge was passed down.

  “I’m…sorry, Master. But it truly was not my fault, like I tried to explain to the Entrance Guards, as well to First-shield Parten.” That had not been a pleasant experience. Over half a day of interrogation while he was confined to a small room by Stonebrink Hall’s Shieldmen leader was a grueling affair he would prefer to forget. Not only had he explained what happened to his armor (which he could tell wasn’t believed in the slightest), but he also had to reveal that Nurboldar had been essentially destroyed, 80% of the Shieldmen had been lost in the overwhelming undead monster attack on the village, and Second-shield Bregan had been killed in the defense.

  He had tried to go into detail about Sandra and her dungeon, about what the Core had done to help those who survived the attack, and about the danger that was slowly ramping up…but he was largely ignored.

  “None of that matters, since the only asset we had near the wasteland was Nurboldar. With that lost to us, and with a dishonorable cur like you popping up, the world is slowly collapsing in on us,” First-shield Parten had said harshly. “I don’t believe you anyway, since I can’t take much of what you say as the truth. For now, you’ll be held in isolation until we can determine whether your claims about Nurboldar are true; even then, I’d personally hate to let one of your kind run about my domain.”

  “One of your kind” had been particularly harsh, as it sounded as if the First-shield was comparing him to some hostile dungeon monster and not as a fellow Dwarf. Gerold had known coming back might be difficult, but he hadn’t expected such vitriol and downright disgust at his presence.

  After the interrogation, he had been placed in the cell he was currently inhabiting, waiting for days on end for something to happen. He had yelled and beat at the stone-and-iron cell for hours, but no one had come to let him out or even talk to him. No one until Master Blacksmith Jespin, at least.

  “Why are you here?” Gerold asked curtly, before remembering who he was talking to. “Not that I don’t appreciate your presence and willingness to talk to me, Master. But I also thought that I was supposed to be here in isolation so that I couldn’t ‘spread lies with my dishonorable mouth.’ How did you get here?”

  Master Jespin was silent for a few minutes as he stared intently at Gerold, who stared just as intently back. He had always been a little intimidated by the Master Blacksmiths among them, because they were so far above him in respect, authority, and renown that they were practically immortalized in their fame. For the entire Kingdom, at any one time, there were at most only about 20 Master Blacksmiths; very few Dwarves had the aptitude to become one, and fewer still met the requirements to do so – which themselves were shrouded in mystery. With Gerold’s imprisonment, however, much of the intimidation had worn off, though he still tried to show as much respect to the Master as possible.

  Finally, the older Dwarf spoke as he chuckled. “There’s fire in that body of yours, yet. That’s the same drive I saw when I agreed to craft your armor, you know; not everyone gets one of mine, after all,” he said, not at all modestly. Which was entirely fair, because Jespin’s creations were some of the best – if not the best – that had been seen in half a generation. That might also be why everyone was so disappointed that I had lost my armor. “As for how I got here, well, there aren’t many things denied to a Master Blacksmith if they but ask.”

  That was definitely true. Every single member of their Kingdom would give up their lives to protect a Master Blacksmith; their metal-crafters were the only source of their Shieldmen’s armor, and if even one was killed, it would put a severe hamper on their front-line defense.

  “Your question about why I’m here is a bit harder to answer.” Jespin looked behind him and saw the low stone bench placed across from his cell. Without saying any more, the old Dwarf ambled slowly over to the seat and settled gratefully onto it with a long sigh. “Ahhh, that’s much better. These old bones sure do get annoying after a while. It feels like only a few months ago I was able to run 40 miles through these tunnels without breaking a sweat; yet now I can barely stand for more than 30 minutes without needing to sit down.”

  The Master Blacksmith leaned back against the wall behind him and crossed his arms in a relaxed posture, continuing his explanation. “I happened to hear a report that you had returned unexpectedly, and on the back of a Roc, nonetheless. I try to keep tabs on those Shieldmen that use the armor I’ve crafted over the years, so with your return to Stonebrink so quickly after being dispatched to Nurboldar, I knew I had to find out what happened to you…and to my armor.

  “At first, I was furious that you had allowed my precious work to be destroyed and wanted nothing to do with you. However, after your story seemed to spread around the Shieldmen here – and with me having a mutual relationship with them – the story you told Parten filtered its way to me. Just like the First-shield told you, it sounded too fantastical to believe, and it seemed as if you were making things up to cover for your mistakes.” He was silent for a few moments as he leaned his head back and stared at Gerold again.

  “But then I heard that you mentioned a ‘friendly’ dungeon and how it helped you to regain some of your combat abilities. Some sort of…suit…or something along those lines, am I correct?”

  Gerold nodded. “Yes, a Deep Diver suit.”

  “Deep Diver?” the Master asked, surprised. He tapped his finger against his mouth as if submerged in thought. “Where have I heard that before…ah! Now I remember; the Gnomes made those Deep Diver suits to allow them to enter dungeons, if I’m not mistaken. Because their…Battle Mechs?...were too large to get inside the entrances.”

  “War Machines, actually, but yes.” Gerold just r
ealized that he had corrected a Master, but fortunately the Blacksmith didn’t seem to take offense.

  “That’s right! War Machines…I remember them being quite impressive.” Jespin seemed to look off in the distance as if reminiscing about something. “So, the Gnomes made you this Deep Diver?”

  “Yes and no. Sandra got the idea from some Gnomes that were staying there, and then she improved upon the design.”

  “Wait, what? I don’t remember hearing about that.”

  Gerold went into an explanation of how, when he had arrived and lost his armor, Sandra’s dungeon had been occupied by a pair of Gnomes, an Elf, and later on a half-Dwarf/half-Orc named Kelerim. He also briefly explained what happened to Nurboldar again for context, and how the villagers and remaining Shieldmen had taken refuge in the unique dungeon and were even producing many of the same crops that they had before their village was overrun.

  “…this dungeon made the Deep Diver suit? And a War Machine for the Gnomes? How? And more importantly, why?”

  “The why is the easiest to answer, I believe,” Gerold answered honestly. “Sandra isn’t like other dungeon ‘Cores’, who she says are insane and are constrained by certain things to want to kill everything around them in a mindless fury. She used to be a Human that died and was turned into one of these Cores, but she was able to maintain her sanity; now, she wants to save our people from the worrisome dangers that the other dungeons present. And not only us, but also the Elves and Gnomes – even the Orcs.”

  “How does this ‘Sandra’ expect to do that? The mere thought of it seems impossible.”